


We Sail Through Endless Skies

by Faillen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe- Publishing, Confessions, Editor!Bucky, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Literary and Genre Fiction, M/M, Maria Stark Appreciation, Novelist!Tony, Sharing a Bed, Veteran!Bucky, WinterIron Spring Fling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6888490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faillen/pseuds/Faillen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark hasn't published anything since he was 25. As far as the world knows, the former literary genius hit a slump after his parents' deaths—a slump that's lasted five years—a truly tragic ending to the career of a man who published his first work at 17. When Bucky Barnes gets hired to be Stark's 'glorified coffee bringer' at Stark Publishing, it's as far as what he knows too. Tony Stark just stopped writing.</p><p>Of course, that's not quite the case. So when Bucky finds a hidden manuscript on Stark's computer, he demands that he be allowed to edit it. And proceeds to fall head over heels for Tony as they make margin notes, argue over metaphors, and cry over deadlines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Sail Through Endless Skies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> First of all, Lil Ammy Dee, I hope you like this story as much as I loved writing it! It's one of the longest things I have ever written, and it was an absolute blast. 
> 
> Second, shout out to trickyarchangel, because as I have told her, I probably would've gone insane trying to edit this myself. You were an amazing beta, and I loved working with you.
> 
> Third, curiousbees and maybeinwinter, thank you so much for reading through this before I posted it, and quelling any last fears I had about it somehow making absolutely no sense.
> 
> This story has a shameless amount of bed sharing, Tony Stark wearing glasses without any actual explanation (I just like him in glasses, okay?!), the use of crazy deadlines as plot devices, and has been written with only a vague knowledge of how the publishing world works. You have been warned :D

[Excerpt from “Title TBD”. Last edited November 14th, 2015]

_The warning systems of the ship were blaring as the blast hurtled him away._

_“Navigation critically damaged.”_

_“Engines one and two critically damaged.”_

_“Warning, black hole detected within 600 miles of spacecraft.”_

_With that last warning, Iron Man settled back into the command module, disengaged his helmet lock and took the helmet off, setting it next to himself as he watched the stars zoom past._

_Rescue and War Machine were definitely going to be more than a little upset. Feeling like the accessory to another person’s death was not a good feeling, but when Iron Man had formulated the plan, he’d known that telling them that his position in relation to the blast Iron Monger would collapse into would cause him to ricochet straight out into a black hole would not have gained him any support._

_It was better that he hadn't told them— they completed their goal quickly and efficiently and that was what mattered most. Although they probably wouldn’t see it that way, the fact that Iron Man was going to be sucked into a black hole within ten minutes ensured that that really wasn’t a problem anymore._

_As the ship continued to flash proximity warnings, he couldn’t help but let out a bitter chuckle. He’d spent so long hunting his parent’s killer, but finding and destroying War Monger had left him with a feeling of emptiness, rather than the fulfillment he’d expected._

_Perhaps, he mused, perhaps it had all just been a waste. What was the point of chasing a person for revenge, if that was what the person had expected all along? Perhaps it would’ve been more fitting revenge if he’d simply settled down with a crew like the Avengers or the Guardians, rather than succumbing to the expected pull of vengeance. Paranoia was something that could drive you crazy, Iron Man knew that from experience, and maybe if he’d settled down, War Monger would’ve driven himself to death by constantly looking over his shoulder._

_However, he’d always had a knack for making useless stands—after all, it was what led him to being unable to say goodbye to his mother before she was killed—so he supposed it was fitting that his last act and life’s work was yet another pointless battle._

_Yet he still wanted to yell and kick and scream and throw a tantrum so large that Death would have no choice but to let him live. But the one hundred mile proximity alarm went off, and instead, Iron Man began to turn off the alarms. The display in front of him now silently counted down the miles, and he closed his eyes after a moment._

_Surrounded by the tiny pinpricks of life that had fascinated him all his life, Iron Man finally flew into the one place where he would never be able to see that light again._

* * *

Bucky wanted it to be on the record that he did not come to Stark Publishing with high expectations. He had virtually no experience, didn’t look like the most inviting guy, and no recommendations. In fact, he was pretty sure that the only thing going for him was that he’d served two tours in Afghanistan—support the troops and all that patriotic jazz.

But even his already low expectations were higher than _this._

“This is uh, your office.” Bruce, the fidgety man that had been assigned to getting Bucky situated, looked apologetic as Bucky took in the so-called office.

“This is a closet.” Bucky looked at the man, unimpressed. He wasn’t even exaggerating; the room barely had enough space for Bucky to take three full-length strides in it.

“HR probably figured that since you’d be spending most of your time with Tony, you wouldn’t really need a large office space.” Bruce rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, “You could probably contact them and ask to get transferred, but I don’t know how much good that’ll do.”

“I figured,” Bucky sighed, “I’m guessing it’s time to meet Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, he’s usually in his office…” Bruce stepped out of the office and began walking down the hall; glancing back to make sure Bucky was following him. They stopped in front of a door, and Bucky could hear the crashing music through it. Bruce knocked once, and then twice, but upon getting no response, he pushed the door open.

Bucky was hit by a cacophony of sound, and was met with the sight of a slightly manic-looking man scribbling away in a notebook.

“Tony?” Bruce called, trying to be heard over the music. The man didn’t look up, his head bopping along to the beat, “Tony!” Stark’s head shot up, and he groped across the desk to hit the off button on the speaker that sat at the edge of it.

“Brucie-bear!” Stark got up out of his chair with a wide grin, his hands in his pockets as he shifted his gaze over to Bucky. It turned leering, and Bucky could feel his hackles rise in response. Well, there went his hope that he was going to last more than a few days. Stark slung an arm over Bruce’s shoulder, continuing to watch Bucky, “I see you brought me presents?”

Bruce sighed, but his expression seemed slightly...fond? Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Tony, this is Bucky. I’d ask you to not scare him off like you did with your last assistant, but we all know that would be futile,” Stark made a wounded noise,  “so I’m just going to remind you that sexual harassment lawsuits are not good things, and Pepper would kill you.”

“You and Pep never let me have fun,” Stark replied before sticking his hand out. “Tony Stark, pleasure to meet you.”

Bucky looked down at it and grasped it after a pause, “James Barnes.”

Stark raised an eyebrow, “What? No pleasantry in exchange?”

“Nah.” Bucky gave him a tight smile. “You seem _pleasant_ enough for the both of us.”

Something seemed to falter on Stark’s face before he turned back around to Bruce, “Damn, you sure he’s not supposed to murder me?”

“I don’t think HR would be opposed if he did,” Bruce replied, a slightly mischievous smile dancing on his face. “Bucky, if you need anything, you know where my office is. I’ll let you both get,” He paused, obviously gauging the tension in the room. “situated.”

Bucky nodded gruffly, while Stark jovially chorused, “Goodbye, darling,” as Bruce shut the door behind him.

However the tone was not matched by the serious expression and crossed arms the other man sported when Bucky turned back around to face Stark and found him leaning against his desk

Taking a deep breath, Stark straightened up and took a few steps towards him. “Alright, Barnes, James, can I call you Jim? I'm sure you're a great guy, _straight_ -laced military by the looks of it?” He looked Bucky up and down again, but his lips were pursed this time, rather than stretching into the leering grin he’d had before. Spreading his hands almost as if he were taming a wild animal, he continued.

“I'm sure that you'd be great as a glorified coffee-bringer, but here's the thing. I don't need an assistant—I haven't written in years, so I think it would be best for both of us if you just quit right now instead of leaving me to file paperwork when you decide to do so within the next week.” Stark had shoved his hands back into his pockets and looked off somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder, his face blank after his ‘speech’.

Bucky bristled. God, what the hell was up with this guy? Uncrossing his arms, Bucky hooked his thumbs into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, giving Stark an icy smile.

“Here's _my_ thing, Mr. Stark. My friend found me this job, and I don't intend to disappoint him. In fact, I intend to be the very best glorified coffee-bringer I can be, so the idea of me quitting within the next week is laughable. How about you tell me how you like your coffee, and you can drink that and listen as I tell you how Don’t Ask, Don't Tell has been repealed for a while, since you're obviously not very informed.”

Stark had moved his gaze back to Bucky’s face, and was looking at him with a mix of disbelief and another, unidentifiable emotion. After a moment, he began to laugh, and Bucky looked on, clenching his jaw.

Straightening up, Stark crossed his arms. “Alright then Barnes, two creams, two sugars. Think you can handle that?”

Bucky pushed the door open and looked back at Stark with a sarcastic grin. “You’d be surprised, Mr. Stark.” Stepping out, he let the door fall shut behind him with a soft click. After a beat, the ear-shattering music that had been playing in the office started up again, and Bucky strode down the hall, determined to give Stark the best coffee he’d ever tasted.

He just had to find the break room.

* * *

“—he's just an utter asshole. I got him his coffee and he didn't even say thank you!” Bucky took an angry swig of his beer.

“Well, in his defense, you were pretty harsh before that.” Steve frowned, before glancing over to where Clint was trying to charm the bartender into giving them free drinks.

“But he deserved it, I mean, he automatically assumed I was some kind of homophobic ass because I was in the military. C’mon Sam, back me up.” Bucky looked over at Sam for support, but the man was focused on his phone, tapping away. Upon hearing his name, he looked up and held his hands up.

“Hey, I’m not getting between you two fighting. We all know how that ended last time.” He shuddered dramatically, obviously thinking of the time he’d gotten caught in the crossfire of their annual prank war. Sam could pull off a lot of things, but green hair was not one of them.

Bucky turned back to Steve with an exasperated sigh. “Steve, if you’d been there, you would’ve gotten up in his face too. Just because he’s Tony Stark doesn’t mean that he’s allowed to be a dick. He hasn’t even written in _years._ ”

“Isn’t Tony Stark the author of all those boring-ass books you used to read at base?” Clint asked, trying to steal Steve’s beer after his unsuccessful attempts. “You used to go all starry eyed over his ‘prose’.” He fake gagged and Bucky shot him a glare before looking down at his beer.

Taking another swig, he wiped his thumb over his mouth. “He’s a great writer, I’ll give him that. But’s he’s also a dick, alright? The guy is practically the embodiment of ego.”

“I mean, you could just quit,” Sam said, tapping his fingers on the table. “You know, instead of ranting about what an ass he is.”

Bucky scoffed. “As if. The man said I wouldn’t last a week. No way in hell am I proving him right.”

Clint mockingly patted him on the back, “Well man, just remember that homicide is frowned upon by the law.”

Giving him a sarcastic grin, Bucky ruffled his hair. “I know, otherwise you would’ve been dead long ago, birdbrain.”

With a yelp, Clint ducked away from his hand and pretended to cower behind Steve. “Did you just hear him? He threatened to kill me!”

Steve gave him a shit-eating smile. “Would do us all some good if you asked me.”

Gasping, Clint turned to Sam. “Sam, my bro, you wouldn’t want me dead, would you?”

Sam shrugged. “You can’t get us free drinks, so you’re practically of no use.” With a dramatic wail, Clint flopped onto the bar counter, pouting.

“You all have no idea what I do for you, do you?”

“You do nothing,” The rest of them deadpanned, before bursting out into laughter. Clint straightened up and pointed an accusing finger at Sam and Steve.

“See, I expected this from that asshole,” he jabbed a finger in Bucky’s direction, “but you both are supposed to be nice. All-American Boy and Nice-Guy Therapist.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Son, Bucky didn’t make me a sarcastic shit, I made Bucky a sarcastic shit.”

Sam looked off into the distance, “The city,” he began dramatically, “it changes you.”

“Oh fuck you,” replied Clint. “We all know that you’re from New York, don’t lie.”

While Sam bickered with Clint over whether or not Yonkers could be considered part of the city ( _It’s a suburb forty five minutes away!_ argued Sam. _It's close enough to New York_ was Clint’s retort), Steve looked over at Bucky with an amused smile and tilted his head.

“You know, you could just apologize.”

“Apologize?” Bucky scoffed. “He started it.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve took a sip of his beer. “Ma always said kindness was the best revenge. Be the bigger man.”

“I could be the bigger man even without apologizing. The asshole is short,” Bucky replied, incredulous. “Not to mention, like I said, you wouldn't be saying that if you'd met him.”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe so, but he is your employer, and from what I've heard, you've talked your way into being unable to quit. Might be a good idea to stay on civil terms.”

Bucky grumbled. “I'm not apologizing to that dick.”

Steve gave him ‘a look’, and Bucky stared back, both of them unwilling to back down.

“Apologize, Buck. You were a dick too.”

“No. I refuse to apologize for exercising my right to be a dick.”

* * *

“I’m sorry that I was a dick yesterday.”

Stark watched Bucky carefully, face confused. “Excuse me?”

Bucky sighed, and reiterated; “I want us to be on good terms if I'm going to be doing this,” he vaguely motioned between them.

Stark raised an eyebrow. “This,” he stated, an amused smile trying to curve his mouth. Bucky looked back, unimpressed, and Stark’s amusement faded away into hesitation. He swiveled back around to face his computer.

“Well,” he started, eyes darting across the screen. “I suppose I should apologize as well.” He quickly glanced over at Bucky, “So, sorry.”

Bucky harrumphed and crossed his arms. “You could put a bit more effort into it,” he muttered, before pasting a smile on his face. “So, now that we have a truce, would you like me to bring you your coffee?”

Stark narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to poison me?”

With a raised eyebrow, Bucky held up his hands. “I just told you that I wanted to be civil. Have a little faith, Stark.”

“You gave me murder eyes all of last week. I’m justified!” Stark spluttered, before shaking his head, “Just go get me my coffee.”

“Will do,” and with a jaunty salute and a grin, Bucky backed out of the office.

* * *

Stark had already gone home for the weekend an hour before, leaving Bucky to finish cleaning up the office for the week. Going through all the manuscript submissions that Stark had rejected throughout the week was surprisingly amusing.

After trudging through more than one manuscript that Stark labeled with: atrocious plot-holes, shit character development, and no follow through, Bucky had more definitive proof that Stark was definitely a harsh reviewer. And while sending rejection emails back to the writers could get tedious, Stark’s comments definitely made up for quite a bit.

Since their tenuous truce, Bucky felt he and Stark had been getting along better. He still thought Stark was an ass, but at least he could admit that Stark might be...tolerable. _Tolerable_ , Bucky snorted to himself as he continued to clean out the slush-pile files on Stark’s computer.

“Tolerable in an irritating, maddening…” Bucky trailed off as he found something on Stark’s computer he hadn’t been expecting.

He clicked the file preview, and chuckled. Whoever sent this in was definitely not trying very hard to actually have a chance at getting published. There was no title page or cover letter, and the name of the file itself didn’t have the name of the person that submitted it in it, but rather ‘Title TBD’. Smirking with amusement, Bucky opened up the labels on the file, imagining just how scathing Stark’s comments would be.

But there were only two labels attached: Complete and Unedited. Frowning, Bucky opened the file, watching as it loaded, his confusion increasing as the downloaded page count went over the standard 40 pages that Stark Publishing accepted for submissions. In fact, Bucky realized as the file slowly loaded, the document was over 500 pages.

Once the download finished, the document automatically opened. Glancing at the time and noting that there were twenty minutes till Bruce would come knocking on his door to drive him out, Bucky began to read, and found himself getting sucked in.

It was set in space, and the main character was an adventurer named Iron Man. As Bucky skimmed through the first few pages, he found himself intrigued. Scrolling to the end of the document, he frowned as he read the, quite frankly, depressing ending. Reaching the last paragraph, he realized something with a start.

This was _Stark’s_ writing style. Lonely characters and endings that bordered on existential epiphanies. It was Stark’s literary style put to work in a _genre_ piece, of all things. Now _this_ was something he had to read.

Looking at the size of the file, he swore under his breath. It was far too big to upload to his Google account within the five minutes he had. Yanking open a desk drawer, he rummaged through, looking for a USB drive, and let out a small noise of victory when he found one.

Plugging the drive into the computer, he began to download the file, tapping his fingers on the glass top of the desk impatiently. The blue download bar grew longer as the minutes ticked down. Bruce would not be happy if he found that Bucky was still in the office. If there was one thing he hated, it was being forced to stay late—Bucky had seen him ream Stark out on one notable occasion.

While he waited, Bucky began to gather up his work from around the room and put it in his backpack. As he shoved his laptop into the bag, he looked over at the computer screen and was met with the sight of a ‘Download Complete’ message. With a fist pump, he grabbed the USB drive from the computer and shoved it in his backpack, right as the Bruce opened the door.

“Bucky? You’re still here?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, expression slightly irritated.

“I was just on my way out, don’t worry.” He smiled at Bruce and edged his way past and into the hall with a wave. “Have a great weekend!”

Bruce’s expression morphed into confusion. “Uh, you too?”

But Bucky had already turned the corner, the USB drive in his backpack just waiting for him to spend the rest of the weekend reading it.

* * *

“I didn’t know you wrote genre fiction.” He leaned against the doorjamb, a printed copy of the manuscript in hand. He'd spent the entire weekend devouring the story, unable to put it down. Tony’s head shot up, and his expression was alarmed.

“What on earth are you—” Bucky placed the manuscript in front of him.

“Found this while I was clearing out the files on your computer last week. It’s pretty amazing if you ask me.”

Stark shook his head, pointing at the manuscript as if it were a piece of moldy cheese, “Okay. Well. I didn't ask you and this, this is just a random space opera I started when I was a melodramatic 25-year-old. I finished it for old times sake last year. It’s genre fiction, absolutely meaningless fantasies about aliens and spaceships—nothing substantial.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “If you’d really thought that, you wouldn’t have finished it.” Tony opened his mouth to disagree. “Look, Stark, genre fiction and literary fiction? Neither of them is better than the other, alright? You can still have an amazing message, and you can still change someone’s life with genre fiction, just like how you can make literary fiction exciting. That’s the mark of a good writer, and this is proof that you are one.”

Stark snorted, obviously brushing off the compliment. “I would’ve loved to see you argue with my old man. And you haven’t read my literary works, how would you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky continued, “I’ve read your lit, Stark.” Stark’s eyes widened at the admission. “And you made your world and your story exciting, despite the fact that it was literary.” Bucky pointed to the manuscript on the desk. “That story is meaningful, alright? It’s genre fiction, but it has meaning.”

Stark pursed his lips and looked down at the manuscript with a flippant, “Well then, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I think you should publish it. All it needs is a hand edit or two, which is why I printed it out,” Bucky replied seriously. Stark snorted.

“Obadiah wouldn’t publish genre fiction if he was held at gunpoint. Besides,” Stark said, turning away and facing the long list of files on his computer. “I have a bunch of slush-pile manuscripts to got through. I’m not going to waste my time on a space opera that I wrote years ago.”

“I’ll edit it.” He set his jaw determinedly. Stark looked up, surprise crossing his features.

“ _You’ll_ edit it?” He sounded disbelieving.

Bucky pressed his lips together. “I may be a glorified assistant here, but I do have editing experience, and a degree. Give me a week and let me edit it.”

“That’s not what I—” Stark cut himself off, “If you’re going to edit it, I’m going to pay you.”

Bucky shook his head, “Nah, all you have to do is promise that you’ll publish it.” He paused. “And buy me dinner for the next week.”

Stark raised an eyebrow and it took a moment for Bucky to realize that it had sounded like he was asking Stark out. He felt his cheeks heat and quickly backtracked. “Not like, like a date, or anything. Just, two colleagues, going out for—” He rubbed a hand over his face. Man, he was pathetic. “Or, you know what, let’s just do lunch. But either way, you don’t need to pay me for editing.”

With a shake of his head, Stark smiled wryly. “Alright, Barnes, you can edit my space opera.”

“Sounds good, Stark.” With a grin, he grabbed the manuscript off the table.

* * *

Perhaps Stark wasn’t that bad, Bucky thought to himself as he watched Tony scribble away in the margins, glasses haphazardly shoved onto his face. A part of Bucky still obviously agreed that Stark could be an asshole, but Bucky didn’t quite know when irritation slipped into a quiet fondness. He wasn’t exactly sure if it was a good thing, and he sighed, setting a refilled mug of coffee next to Tony as he sat back down in his chair.

After all, it was kind of hard to hate the guy when he’d barged into Bucky’s office less than a half hour after Bucky had left to start editing the manuscript and dragged him back to his own office with some bullshit explanation about not wanting to promote unpaid labor and _‘Holy shit this is a closet, HR seriously needs to get its act together’_.

“What do you think of this?” Stark pushed the manuscript over to Bucky, letting him skim over what had been scrawled in the margin. Bucky tapped his pen against the table, twisting his mouth thoughtfully.

“I think you should remove this part,” he underlined a repetitive description, “and then elaborate more over here.”

Stark took the manuscript back and bit his lip as he looked it over. “But I feel like it would lessen the impact of the section if I tried to add more.”

Bucky shook his head. “What you're trying to convey isn't as clear as it should be. You could word it something like this...” He scribbled underneath the original note Stark had made. “Yeah?”

“Hm.” Stark looked it over critically. “I guess that would work.”

They continued to work in silence for a while longer, getting through four more pages before Stark leaned back in his chair, taking of his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He looked at the clock and turned his head towards Bucky. “Do you like Americana? Food, I mean.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “‘Course, why?”

Stark set his glasses down on the table, “There's this place on sixty-third, and its cheeseburgers are amazing. Lunch rush should be over, so we could go now.”

Bucky’s eyes jumped to the clock at the mention of lunch, wondering exactly how much time had passed. “Holy shit, it's two.”

Stark looked at him, unimpressed. “Get with it soldier-boy.” Bucky would almost consider Stark’s tone as fond, if not for the fact that their relationship had been balanced on banter and obnoxious flirting, rather than, well, _feelings._

Shaking his head, Bucky got out of his seat, raising his arms to stretch. “I could eat.”

“Cool. I'm driving,” Stark said, getting out of his seat as well, while Bucky shrugged in passive agreement. Stark bent down to retrieve his keys from his bag, and Bucky’s eyes couldn't help but get dragged to the curve of Stark’s ass, but he quickly shifted his gaze after Stark straightened up.

What the hell, he thought, grabbing his hoodie off the back of the chair. Sure it was a nice ass, but noticing that about his _boss_ could end with him two steps away from getting sent to a sexual harassment seminar. Dammit, he mentally groaned, why did he do this to himself? And why was he noticing _now_? He zipped up his hoodie with a sigh, watching as Stark put his computer into sleep mode.

Maybe realizing that Stark wasn't too bad had opened up other avenues of appreciation; he rationalized, as his gaze still continued to wander as Stark led him out of the office. And, it wasn't odd to objectively realize someone was hot, right?

_Right?_

* * *

So Bucky was probably screwed. He was 80% certain of the fact.

While he had first dismissed his appreciation of Stark’s posterior as plain and simple acknowledgement of the other man’s attractiveness, finally registering the fact that he had looked at Stark that way now opened the floodgate to the realization that he'd actually been looking at him like that for a while.

Take what was happening at the moment for example. The burger place that Stark had brought him to, while looking slightly sketchy, definitely had the best cheeseburgers Bucky had ever tasted. Or so he thought, because he kept on getting distracted by the sight of Stark licking his lips or his fingers, or taking a sip from the criminally large milkshake that he'd ordered.

So every time Bucky would take a bite, Stark would do something with his hands or mouth, or he'd say something that Bucky would then have to figure out a retort to, and before Bucky knew it, his cheeseburger was gone and he wasn't really sure if he'd actually tasted it.

He stared down at his now empty plate, forlorn, and Stark laughed upon catching a glimpse of his expression.

“You can order another, don't worry about it. Lunch is on me, remember?”

“That’s not the point, Stark,” Bucky muttered, huffing. Stark just let out a small laugh, before looking at Bucky thoughtfully. Bucky could feel the back of his neck heat at the attention. Stupid Stark with his stupid, distracting hands and his stupid distracting—

“You know,” Stark said, placing his chin on his hands and looking at Bucky with a small smirk. “You’re not as bad as I thought you would be.”

“Damn,” Bucky replied. “Doesn’t that sound like the start of a beautiful friendship?”

Stark raised an eyebrow. “Shut up, Barnes. I’m trying to give you a compliment.” He leaned back into his seat. “I still can’t believe that you’ve read my lit.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, taking a sip of his water. “Because I’m a ‘big, macho guy’?”

“Well I might’ve thought that before, but no.” Stark pursed his lips thoughtfully. “More like I’d have expected you to turn your nose up at that kind of thing. Literary stuff can get kind of snooty.”

“Well you’re literary works didn’t feel like that.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “They were,” He paused, trying to think of the word. “Honest.”

Stark furrowed his brows. “Are you joking?”

Bucky shifted in his seat, taking in the other man’s expression of incredulity. “Yeah, I mean, I never felt like you were writing it so that only high-brow people could read it. It didn’t feel like you were catering to the kind of people that would laugh at the idea of genre fiction.”

“Huh,” Stark snorted. “God, I really hated writing those books though.”

Bucky cocked his head in surprise. “Why’s that?”

Stark shrugged. “I never really liked literary because,” He gestured towards Bucky, “as you said, I always felt like they were for people who believed that genre fiction was inane. I never really wanted to be considered that, you know?”

“Well,” Bucky started, “I don’t know about other people, but I never felt like that about your writing. Books were practically the only thing that kept me from going insane while I was on base during my tours.”

Stark grinned. “It would’ve been _such_ a tragedy if you’d gone insane.”

“Excuse you,” Bucky retorted, pointing a finger at Stark, “But talking like that to the other half of your writing squad is like asking for me to make part of a chapter ‘disappear’.”

Stark laughed. “As if you would actually do that.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Stark. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” He took another sip of his water, glancing back down at his empty plate as Stark’s laughter died off after a moment, replaced by an almost pensive silence.

“Tony,” Stark blurted out suddenly, causing Bucky to look up in confusion. The other man had a pained expression on his face, and seemed to be considering slapping a hand over his mouth.

“What?” Bucky asked, unsure if he'd heard correctly. Stark waved his hand dismissively and popped a fry into his mouth, causing Bucky to frown. Hoping that he'd heard correctly, he took a fry off Stark’s plate, eliciting a squawk as he brought it near his mouth. “If you want me to call you Tony, you're going to have to call me Bucky.” He ate the fry, watching Stark’s reaction.

Stark seemed to start and stop for a moment, mouth opening, before closing. After a second, he pressed his lips together and looked off to the side thoughtfully, before looking up at Bucky, apparently having come to terms with what had just happened. His lips curled into a smirk. “What kind of name is that?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shaddup, _Tony_. It's a nickname.”

“Nickname, huh? Guess that makes sense.” Tony’s smirk turned into a grin that made Bucky’s stomach flip flop. “Well, _Bucky,_ do you want another burger or nah?” And upon hearing and seeing the way that Tony’s mouth curved around his name, Bucky was helpless to do anything but nod and hope that the redness of his ears wasn't too obvious. Tony waved over one of the waiters with a smile, unaware of how Bucky was digging his fingers into his pants.

Stupid Tony with his stupid, distracting hands and his stupid, distracting _mouth._

* * *

“So,” Steve started, sliding into his seat at the bar. “You haven’t been texting me much these past few days. What’s up?”

Bucky shrugged. “Tony wrote this amazing manuscript for a space opera and—” at Steve’s raised eyebrow, Bucky exclaimed, “I know! Last thing I expected from a lit writer like him. Turns out, he’s been writing it these past few years, and I found the manuscript for it a few days ago, and we’ve been hand editing it. Takes up time, you know?”

“That sounds great, Buck.” Steve tilted his head slightly and smirked. “When’d you start calling him Tony?”

Bucky felt his ears turn red. “We went out for lunch on the first day and he asked me to start calling him Tony.”

“Oh?” Steve asked as he waved over the bartender and ordered a beer. He turned back to Bucky after the bartender slid his beer across the counter, a grin spreading over his face.

“Yep,” Bucky replied, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. Steve watched him, the grin still on his face and Bucky sighed, knowing that he had zero chance of hiding anything from his best friend. “And I may have also realized that I kind of have a thing for him?”

Steve let out a hoot of laughter. “I knew it. You idiot.” He playfully cuffed Bucky on the shoulder.

“It’s not a big deal, and anyway, he’s my _boss_.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hummed, obviously unimpressed with Bucky’s answer. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Oh fuck you,” Bucky muttered, taking a sip of his beer. “Anyway, I know Clint’s teaching ASL classes tonight, but where’s Sam?” He asked, trying to change the subject. Luckily it worked, and Steve’s eyes lit up at the mention of Sam.

“He’s working a late shift at the VA today. I’m supposed to pick him up at 9. His group therapy sessions have been going really well, did he tell you?” Steve continued to talk about Sam’s work at the VA, and about how he had volunteered to teach a few beginners art classes there as well. Bucky listened absentmindedly, his mind drifting to his situation with Tony instead.

He was startled from spacing-out when Steve put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Steve said, his blue eyes earnest. “You’ll figure it out.”

Bucky paused, and then nodded. “Sorry about spacing out. Tell me about those art classes again?”

Steve launched back into talking about the classes, and Bucky hoped that Steve was right.

* * *

When Bucky walked into the office a few days after they’d finally finished the first round of paper edits (and that fateful lunch), he was met with the sight of Tony draped across the couch, while a man and a woman looked on exasperatedly.

“Uh, hello?” Bucky said, interrupting a staring contest Tony and the woman were having. The man, who was closer to Bucky, turned towards him and stuck out his hand.

Bucky took it hesitantly, and the man shook it, introducing himself, “James Rhodes, call me Rhodey. I’m Tony’s agent. He says that you’ve been helping him edit?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied with a smile, “It’s a pretty awesome story.”

“I bet it is,” said the woman, walking up to Bucky as well, “Pepper Potts, Tony’s publicist.”

“Basically,” Tony said from the couch, “They only stick around because I pay them even though I haven’t written anything in five years.”

Rhodey, who had retreated back while Pepper had introduced herself, whacked Tony’s head. “And because we’re your friends, dumbass.”

Tony let out an indignant squawk. “I’ll have you know that the New York Times called me a literary genius.”

“Yeah, and Gawker called you a sex god, and we all know how untrue _that_ is.” Tony gave a wounded yelp, and Bucky restrained himself from saying something stupid, like the fact that _he_ believed Tony was a sex god. Instead, he rubbed a hand across his neck and looked over at Pepper, who was looking at the two bickering men with fond exasperation before sharply clapping her hands.

“Alright, that’s enough, we need to discuss what we actually came here for.” Tony and Rhodey stopped almost immediately and looked up at Pepper expectantly, who gave the same look to Rhodey. Realizing that he was expected to say something, Rhodey held up a finger.

“Yes, okay. Discussions.” He looked down at the pad of paper he’d set off to the side. “Right. So, I talked to one of my contacts down at SHIELD—You remember Natasha Romanov, right?”

Rhodey was interrupted by Bucky’s exclamation of, “Natasha Romanov?” and Tony’s more derisive “Natasha.” Upon hearing Bucky’s admission, Tony looked up at Bucky, face surprised. “You know Natasha?”

“We met on my second tour, but we haven’t been that great at keeping in contact these past few months. How do you know Nat?” He asked, Tony snorted.

“She had your position about two assistants ago, early last year? But she took a job at SHIELD a few months in.” Pepper replied. “Pity, because she was one of the few that could actually deal with this idiot.” Tony pouted dramatically.

“She was terrifying. And I think she was spying on me for Fury.”

Bucky gave a small laugh at that. “I wouldn’t be surprised, Nat’s always been one who knows what she wants and how to get it. I didn’t know she was at SHIELD, though. Has she been there since then?” He turned to Rhodey, only to be met with an unimpressed look.

Rhodey cleared his throat, ignoring his question with a pointed look before he continued, “She said that Fury would be willing to look over the manuscript, so if you guys have finished the first round of hand-edits, I can get it to him this afternoon.”

“Wait, but we haven’t put the edits into the digital file just yet,” Bucky said, feeling slightly panicked. There was no way they’d be able to put all of them in within the next few hours.

Rhodey waved his hand, “No worries, Fury always preferred hard copies. Digital ones can be a bit,” He waved a hand over one half of his face, and Bucky furrowed his brow, not understanding, “difficult.”

“Fury has a few issues with depth perception,” Tony interjected, it what seemed to be an attempt to clarify that really didn’t do much to clear up Bucky’s confusion. Tony turned to Rhodey again, “I think we’re done with hand-edits for now, I can give you the manuscript.”

Tony got up, moving towards the desk and rummaging through his filing cabinet, before coming up with the manuscript and placing it in Rhodey’s hand.

“Awesome,” Rhodey said, flipping through the manuscript, “He’ll probably get back to you within the next week.”

“Sounds good to me.” Tony flopped back onto the couch. He pointed a finger at all of them. “Just make sure Stane doesn’t catch wind of this.”

* * *

“So?” Bucky asked three days later, watching Fury flip through his desk cabinet before finding the manuscript. Natasha stood in the corner of the room, looking deadly in her black stilettos as she fiddled with a pen in her hand.

Fury pushed the manuscript across the table and steepled his hands, “It’s good.”

Tony and Bucky exchanged looks, before leveling Fury with a expectant gazes.

With a sigh, Fury rubbed his forehead, “I’ll give you five days.”

“Five days?” Tony asked incredulously, “Are you crazy?”

Fury looked at Tony, unimpressed, “That’s a helluva lot of time if you ask me, Stark. If you’re asking me to publish something of yours before Obadiah catches wind of it, you better be prepared to deal with my requirements.”

“That is not a helluva lot of time, are you kidding me.” Tony motioned towards the stack of papers on the desk. “That’s over five hundred pages.”

“Well then, I suppose you better get working.” Fury leaned back in his chair. “That’s my final offer, Stark, you should be glad that I’m not asking for any jacked-up royalty fees.”

Tony gritted his teeth, and Bucky couldn’t help but relate. They were both efficient people, he knew that. But editing a 500-page manuscript in five days was insane. That was at least eight or nine pages and hour.

“Fine. Five days it is,” Tony replied, leaning over the table and getting into Fury’s face. The other man nodded, face expressionless.

“Five days, Stark.” Tony sneered before spinning around and banging the door open, causing Bucky to jump. He knew that Fury was doing them a favor, but he didn’t have to be such an ass about it. Throwing a nasty glare at Fury, Bucky rushed out after him, only to yelp when an arm grabbed him.

Pulled to the side of the hall, Bucky was met with Natasha looking at him with an indecipherable look, hands on her hips. “What the hell, Nat?” he exclaimed, as he glanced down the hall to see Tony turning the corner. “I know we haven’t seen each other in months, but is this really necessary? Also,” Bucky frowned, “Why didn’t you tell me you got a job at SHIELD?”

Natasha simply smirked, letting go of his arm, and crossing her own as she schooled her expression into something more serious. “Look, Fury will never admit this—he has his reasons for giving him a deadline—but he’s happy that Stark has you in his corner.”

Bucky looked at Natasha suspiciously. “You never make excuses for other people.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well I want to make sure you know that at the end of the day, Stark has friends here at SHIELD.”

Bucky paused, taking in the information. “You’re fond of him.” He accused with a grin.

Natasha pressed her lips together, “He seems to have a knack for getting people to like him.” she gave Bucky a pointed look. “Some more than others, I suppose.” With that, she whipped around and disappeared down the hall, leaving Bucky sputtering until Tony popped his head from around the corner, looking like he’d cooled down a bit.

“Chop, chop, Barnes, we have a pirate to beat.” Tony tapped his foot impatiently as Bucky shook himself out of his stupor and threw the keys to Tony.

“You can drive.” Tony looked at him incredulously, making Bucky feel like he’d missed something big.

“I don’t know the directions to your place, Barnes.” Bucky looked at him with a start.

“ _My_ place?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Tony replied, as if speaking to a small child, “We need an HQ for the next five days, and I’ve decided that your apartment would be the best place.”

“Since when?”

“Since now, Barnes, get with it. There’s a good ramen place down the street from here, we can grab dinner.” He whipped around and began to start down the hall again, but Bucky stayed rooted in place.

“ _Dinner?”_

Tony gave an exasperated sigh, “We have a five hundred page manuscript to edit and clean up within five days. You better believe that I’m spending dinner with you.” He turned around to look back at Bucky with a cocky smile, but his eyes looked slightly unsure. “Are you coming?”

Running a hand through his hair, Bucky let out a huff of air. “Yeah, I’m coming, Stark, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Oh you wish, Barnes,” Tony replied, giving him a wink as Bucky caught up to him, and Bucky couldn’t do anything but simply laugh at how close Tony was to the truth.

* * *

Bucky unlocked the door to his apartment, pushing it open and walking in, a take out bag full of food in his hand. He set his keys down on the small breakfast table, placing his laptop bag on a chair and turning back to look at Tony.

The other man was looking around Bucky’s apartment with something that looked like curiosity. His hands were in his pockets, and he took in the ratty couch and the numerous paintings (all of them Steve’s) with a smile dancing on his lips before he met Bucky’s eyes.

“Nice place,” He said, and it sounded genuine too. Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“I make do.” He pointed to the table. “You can just set your stuff down there. Do you want to eat the take-out right now or later?”

“Later should be good,” Tony replied, shrugging off his backpack. “I’m not that hungry right now.”

“Water?” Bucky asked, making his way into the kitchen. He set the bag of food on the counter before glancing back at Tony.

“Sure.” Tony settled into his chair while Bucky puttered around, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it up. He looked over at Tony, watching as the other man continued to move his gaze across everything in Bucky’s apartment. It made Bucky feel almost breathless, how natural it felt to have Tony there, sitting at his sorry excuse of a kitchen table while Bucky grabbed him a glass of water.

Moving back towards the table, he grabbed a coaster and set the glass on top, before settling into his own chair and pulling out his laptop, along with the manuscript.

“I was thinking that we could spend the first three days doing a second round of hand edits?” Bucky suggested, watching as Tony grabbed his glasses out of his bag and put them on.

Tony nodded, making grabby hands towards the manuscript as he pushed his own laptop off to the side. “Sounds good to me. Fury made comments on this as well, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, flipping through the pages before handing it over, “I think he had one of his people type in some of the edits that we’d already fleshed out, printed it and then wrote in his own.”

“Well,” Tony said, looking down at the first page. “Let’s see what that one-eyed pirate wrote.”

* * *

“Jeez, it’s late,” Bucky muttered, looking at the time on his laptop. Tony rubbed a hand over his face and grunted in agreement. Bucky watched him with a smile before realizing that his expression was probably far too fond. He looked away, continuing. “You should just crash here. I don’t think we’ll be able to get you a cab right now, and it’ll be over a half hour drive.”

“I have no,” Tony yawned, “objection to that. Lead me to your couch.”

Bucky furrowed his brow. “Who said you were sleeping on the couch. You take the bed, you’re the guest.”

Tony gave him a look, drowsiness seeming to flee in the face of being disagreed with. “No, it’s your house, you take the bed. Just give me a blanket and a pillow, and I’ll be on my way into the Sandman’s arms.”

“Or you could do that in my bed.” Bucky flushed after a beat, realizing how it sounded, but soldiered on. “Where there’s an actual mattress.”

“Yeah, well you need an actual mattress too.” Tony shot back. “Maybe you got used to sleeping on hard surfaces during your tour, but I am sure as hell not kicking you out of your bed after you stayed up till two in the morning helping me edit _my_ story.”

“ _Our_ story,” Bucky corrected, staring Tony down.

“Fine, _our_ story.” Tony acquiesced. “But _your_ bed. So therefore, you take it.”

“Nope.” Bucky replied, crossing his arms. They both held each other’s stare for a moment, before Bucky looked away, running a hand through his hair. “Fine.” He muttered, and Tony let out a whoop, but Bucky wasn’t finished. He looked at Tony with a mischievous grin. “Since neither of us will let the other take the couch, we can both take the bed.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Was that a come-on that I just heard, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but felt his ears burn, “Far from it. The bed’s big enough, just promise you won’t grope me, and we’ll be fine.”

Tony let out an affronted noise, “Me? Grope you? If anything, you won’t be able to keep your hands off all _this_.” He motioned to his body with a lascivious grin.

Bucky looked Tony up and down. “There isn’t any _this_ to speak of,” he lied, appreciating the view a bit more than appropriate.

Tony gave him a wounded look. “How dare you insult my beauty. It’s all I have.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky chuckled, “Well, Mr. Beauty Queen, can we just go to effing bed?”

Tony ignored him. “I demand an apology! This is an outrage.”

“Sure.” Bucky deadpanned, grabbing Tony by the shoulders and steering him towards his bedroom. “How about you tell me about that after we get under the covers? You want me to give you something to change into?” Bucky couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy thinking about Tony in his clothes.

“What if I like to sleep in my birthday suit, hm?” Tony leered up at him and Bucky sighed.

“How about no.” Bucky replied. “And I already told you, there isn’t much for you to show off anyway.”

Tony gasped again, and resumed his mock-offended tirade all the way to the bedroom, before Bucky shoved him onto the mattress, causing him to land with an ‘oomph.’

“Asshole,” Tony muttered, sitting up.

“You wouldn’t shut up,” Bucky replied, grabbing sleep pants and a t-shirt and throwing them at Tony. The other man caught it with a glare, before getting up and going into the bathroom. Bucky settled into bed while he waited, running a hand through his hair.

He was contemplating putting it up when Tony finally walked out of the restroom. The shirt was baggy on him, and the pants were definitely too long, even after Tony had rolled the waistband up a bit. He looked dizzyingly attractive, and Bucky could feel a curl of heat settle low, much to his chagrin.

Bucky shifted his pillow in an effort to distract himself from the fact that Tony was in _his_ clothes, sharing _his_ bed, while Tony set his own clothes on top of the dresser. He turned towards the bed, pausing near the edge of it with an unreadable look.

When Bucky raised an eyebrow in question, he shook his head and flopped onto the bed as well, getting under the covers. Bucky turned off the light after a moment, making sure that Tony was comfortable. The room filled with the sound of their breathing, and Bucky could feel his eyes beginning to slide shut when he heard Tony dramatically gasp.

“What?’ He asked, blearily.

“You didn’t brush your teeth,” Tony whispered. Bucky groaned.

“It’s three am, Tony, I’ll brush my teeth in four hours. And you didn’t either.”

“Heathen.”

“Good lord, just _sleep_.”

* * *

“I think I am in heaven,” Tony said around a mouthful of French toast. “What the hell do you put in this?”

“Eggs. Milk. Bread,” Bucky deadpanned, setting his own plateful of food down.

“It’s glorious.” Tony let out an indecent moan as he swallowed, causing Bucky to shift uncomfortably and shovel a bite of the toast into his mouth as well.

“I would pay you to make this for me.” Tony continued, taking another bite and looking at Bucky thoughtfully. “You should become my live-in chef.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No thanks. You drive me insane enough right now.”

Tony snorted, “Excuse you, I am a delight.”

“A delight that snores. And strangled me in his sleep.”

Tony pointed his fork at him. “Okay, I will have you know that I am a perfectly pleasant person to share a bed with.”

"This morning says otherwise.” Bucky grinned, remembering the way that Tony had draped himself over Bucky during the night. Waking up had been slightly awkward, but it was mostly amusing to see how the back of Tony’s neck had flushed red.

Tony harrumphed “You just don’t like cuddles.”

“I like cuddles plenty.” Bucky took a sip of juice. “I just don’t like cuddling octopuses.”

“Sure, Bucky,” Tony smirked. “I suppose I can pretend that I don’t know how much you liked having me pressed up against you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, trying to force down his blush at the truth that Tony had inadvertently uncovered. “Whatever floats your boat, Tony.”

“Trust me, it definitely floats _my_ boat.”

Bucky groaned at the innuendo. “I don’t even know why I deal with you.”

“Because I’m smart and pretty?” Tony fluttered his eyelashes.

“Nah, even that’s not enough to take away from your _you-ness._ ”

Tony shrugged noncommittally. “What can I say, I’m a character.”

“You’re a _something_ alright.” Bucky stuffed his last bite into his mouth and chewed before continuing. “And your characters are waiting for us to get our asses together and edit their realities, so get going.”

“Yes, sir.” Tony mock saluted before finishing the rest of his French toast with a satisfied sigh. He drained his glass of orange juice, causing Bucky’s eyes to be drawn to his bobbing Adam’s apple, before setting the glass down with a grin.

“Alright, second day. Let’s do this, soldier-boy.”

Bucky felt a spike of heat warm his gut. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

_“Do you think we should keep this? Or pull it out and replace it with—”_

_“Replace it with that part, it flows better.”_

_* * *_

_“Tony! You can’t just throw out grammar rules!”_

_“Of course I can, didn’t you hear? I’m a literary genius.”_

_* * *_

_“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you can’t just_ cross out _that part.”_

_“It’s an entire paragraph devoted to the red and gold color scheme of the ship.”_

_“It’s a metaphor.”_

_“Uh huh, well, it’s not a good metaphor, so it’s going to go.”_

_* * *_

_“What’re we getting?”_

_“I was thinking Thai. There’s a place around the corner.”_

_“Delivery?”_

_“Carry out.”_

_“...”_

_“You’re a lazy ass.”_

_“A lazy ass that’s paying you. Go get us some Thai food.”_

_“You’re not paying me, remember? I oughta kick you out.”_

_* * *_

_“What do you think of this section?”_

_“The last part is a bit wordy, but the rest is good.”_

_* * *_

_'“I can take the couch—”_

_“—You should take the bed—”_

_“....”_

_“....”_

_“Alright, not this again. We did it yesterday, we can do it today.”_

_“...”_

_“C’mon Barnes, I’m not going to jump you for god's sake.”_

_“No, but you might strangle me with your octopus tendencies. Or deafen me with your snoring.”_

_“I do not snore!”_

_“Mhmm, alright, Tony.”_

* * *

Bucky sat on the bed with his laptop, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Tony walked out of the bathroom after taking a shower, hair damp and curling. Pepper had dropped off clothes for him sometime around noon, sadly destroying any possibility that a repeat of Tony wearing _his_ clothes to bed would occur.

He was wondering if ‘accidentally’ spilling something on all of Tony’s clothes would be a viable course of action when Tony walked over to his small bookshelf, stooping down and running a finger over the spines of the books. The books on the shelves were well worn, and Bucky knew that front and center were the six books Tony had written before his parents’ accident. Bucky didn’t bother hiding the fact that he was watching Tony now, and the other man looked up after a moment, expression slightly unreadable.

“You have all my books.” He stated simply, and Bucky shrugged in response, setting his laptop against the wall to charge.

“I told you I read your lit,” Bucky replied. “I wasn’t kidding. Those books were practically all I read while I was on base. Clint used to tease me about it, and Nat would steal them.”

“Natasha would read them?” Tony asked, expression slightly surprised. He pulled out one of the books (his first one, Bucky noted) and turned it over in his hands. “Not something I’d have expected from her.”

“Well Natasha tends to be as unexpected as possible.” Bucky smiled. Tony’s mouth curled up in response.

“Yeah. She was probably the most competent PA I had.” He looked at Bucky flirtatiously. “Of course, not including you, Honey Bunches.”

Bucky rolled his eyes fondly. “That means a lot, Tony. It really does.”

“It should,” Tony replied, mock serious, and the statement hung in the air as he set the book back on the shelf. Bucky watched silently as Tony took one last look at the books before getting up and stretching. Glancing over at the books instead of focusing on the strip of skin that had appeared between the waistband of Tony sweats and the hem of his shirt, Bucky took in the Stark Publishing logo that stood proudly on each of the book spines and frowned as he realized something.

“You know, I’m surprised that 17-year-old you decided to write literary fiction instead of genre fiction.” The statement was out of Bucky’s mouth before he could consider the consequences and Tony stiffened before purposefully relaxing his shoulders. Bucky cringed at the false-looking smile that Tony pasted on his face.

Tony shrugged, as if unbothered. “Oh, you know, dear old dad didn’t really like genre fiction. Thought it wasn’t _real_ writing, and I figured it would probably be easier to get my first book published if it wasn’t some fantasy story. Not much to be surprised about, really.” He held a hand in front of his mouth and yawned. “I’m exhausted. Turn off the lights, will you?” He lifted up a corner of the sheets and got into bed, leaving Bucky torn between apologizing for asking and telling Tony that he was willing to listen.

In the end, he decided to turn off the lights like Tony asked, and settled into bed himself, not wanting to push the other man. Bucky could hear the staccato of Tony’s soft exhales on the other side of the bed, and he tried to match his own breaths to it.

After a moment, the sheets rustled, and when Bucky glanced over his shoulder, he could see that Tony was now on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He didn’t shift, and Tony took a deep breath.

“My dad, he might’ve been the one to publish me, but that was because he knew that I could bring in sales. He wanted me to carry on the family legacy, you know? And that meant no stories about magic, or spies, or,” Tony let out a bitter huff of laughter, “space adventurers. He used to tell me to not write nonsense.” There was a pause, and when Tony spoke again, his voice was softer.

“My mom, she was the one that made me love writing, you know? I could write her anything and she’d always be so delighted, so willing to read it. When she was younger, she used to write poetry, and some nights, she’d recite some to me before I went to bed. There was this one, I barely remember it now, but she called it Endless Skies. She was into the counterculture when she was a kid, so it was an anti-war piece— I didn't know that then, it had just sounded like a poem about space— and it had been my favorite one. I used to always ask her to recite it for me.” He trailed off. “I’m not sure when or why I stopped asking, but I wish I remembered the entire thing.”

Tony went silent, and Bucky finally shifted around. Tony watched Bucky settled back on his side, facing Tony. His eyes were slightly shiny, and Bucky reached across the bed to give his hand a comforting squeeze.

“I wish I could’ve heard it too,” he whispered, and Tony shrugged his shoulder, giving him a small smile. After a moment, Bucky let go of his hand, wishing that he could’ve gathered Tony into his arms instead.

* * *

“I think,” Tony said taking a gulp of orange juice the next morning. “That you should make French toast again. Like now.”

Bucky looked at him, unimpressed. “I’m not making you French toast right now. Eat your damn cereal.”

“I need to function, Bucky. You can’t do this to me.”

Bucky let out a groan, knowing that Tony wouldn’t let up until he’d submitted in some way. “Good lord, finish your cereal so that we can finish editing. I’ll make you something for lunch.”

Tony began shoveling cereal into his mouth, before stopping and pointing at Bucky with his spoon, who was still eating at a normal pace, _like a normal person._ “C’mon, eat, eat, eat. We have editing to do.”

Bucky shook his head. This man was going to be the death of him, if he didn’t end up strangling Tony first. But if he did start eating slightly faster… well, sue him; he wanted to get the edits done too.

It didn’t mean that Tony had him wrapped around his little finger. Nope.

* * *

It was 4 a.m. by the time they finished ‘that’ day— Tony scribbling out his last few notes in the margin while Bucky looked on with half-lidded eyes. Leaning back against the sofa, Tony sat the pen on the table with a soft clatter and gathered up the papers into a neat pile next to the empty beer bottles, before looking up at Bucky. His smile was tired, and Bucky heaved himself off the couch, outstretching a hand to help Tony up. Tony grasped it and stood up, before letting his forehead fall against Bucky’s shoulder.

“I am exhausted,” Tony muttered, arms limp at his sides. Bucky shrugged him off with a fond smile.

“Off to bed,” Bucky replied, nudging him in the direction of the bedroom. After five days of this, the usual awkwardness and need to clarify didn’t make an appearance, and Tony let himself be steered down the hall.

They fell on top of the covers, side by side, and Bucky could feel the heat radiating off of Tony’s body. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a breath. “You did it,” He whispered, disbelieving. It felt surreal, after the marathon they’d had the past three days. But the finished product sat on the coffee table in the other room, waiting for them to type it all out and send it within the next two.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Tony whispered softly, before pausing. “Thank you.” There was something in Tony’s tone as he said those words (or maybe because it was 4 a.m., or even the faint buzz of beer in his veins) that caused Bucky to roll over and face Tony, propping himself up on an elbow. Tony looked over with sleepy eyes, hair splayed out against the covers, expression unchanging as Bucky daringly began to shift so that he hovered over him. But as Bucky situated himself about Tony, Tony’s expression became more relaxed, the corners of his mouth tugging up. The open look sent a shiver down Bucky’s spine and he could his own mouth lifting up in echo.

They looked at each other for a moment, before Tony slowly, so slowly, moved his hand up to catch Bucky's hair between his fingers, gathering it up and laying the palm of his hand against the nape of his neck. Bucky tilted his head into the hand, and there was something in Tony’s expression, something that looked almost wondrous as his eyes fluttered, lashes dark against his skin when Bucky rubbed his thumb over his cheekbone.  

Bucky watched his hand as he moved it down to cup Tony’s jaw, reveling in the feeling of Tony’s facial hair pricking against his fingers. His mouth curved softly as he gently brushed his thumb over the skin, lifting his gaze back to Tony’s when Tony pushed himself against Bucky’s palm. Searching Tony’s eyes, he found something expectant, waiting for him to break the stillness that had come over them. Bucky’s heart thudded in his ears, but he couldn’t help but lean down, unable to think of any of the reasons that had stopped him before.

The sigh that Tony let out as their lips touched felt like coming home and Bucky smiled into the kiss, lips moving languidly over Tony’s. As he sucked Tony’s bottom lip into his mouth, he let himself be pushed back by a light press over his sternum.

Tony planted himself over Bucky’s thighs, running his hands up Bucky’s jaw and tangling them in his hair as he pressed harder into the kiss, taking advantage of how Bucky’s mouth had parted. Bucky had a hand on the back of his head, and he scratched his fingernails over Tony’s scalp, eliciting another sigh, before Tony moved away from his lips to press kisses on his jaw and the corner of his mouth, his goatee scratching against Bucky’s skin.

He settled against Bucky, letting himself slip off to the side so that only one leg was thrown over Bucky’s legs. They were both exhausted, and their kisses became slower and softer, leaving everything feeling almost dream-like. Pressing one last sleepy kiss to Bucky’s lips, Tony pulled away, his smile interrupted by a yawn, and Bucky wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to get him closer before pressing a kiss to Tony’s forehead.

Bucky settled into the bed, looking down at the mop of dark brown hair that was now curled into his side. Despite the weight of what had just occurred, Bucky couldn’t bring himself to think of the possible consequences that would come the next day. In fact, he couldn’t even think of why he hadn’t done that before. With the finished manuscript in the other room, Bucky found his eyes slipping shut, Tony a comforting presence close to him.

* * *

Bucky woke up to Tony rolling out of bed. He groaned pushing his face into his pillow. “What time is it?” He asked, voice muffled.

Bucky could hear Tony breathing from where he stood next to the bed, but the other man didn’t reply, causing Bucky to turn his face away from the comforting warmth of the pillow in order to look at him.

At the sight of an expression that looked terrifyingly blank on Tony’s face, Bucky sat up. “Tony? What’s up?” The night before was slowly starting to filter back in, and Bucky felt warmth swelling up in his chest, but warning alarms were beginning to go off in his brain as well. What had happened had been… unexpected, and while Bucky sure as hell didn’t regret it, there was every chance that Tony did.

Tony took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of his shirt before turning and looking somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder. “I should, ah, get back to the office and start typing those edits up.” He moved to walk out of the room, but Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed in a flash, grabbing Tony’s wrist.

“You can do that here, you brought your laptop and I brought mine too. We’ll be done faster.” Taking a deep breath of his own, Bucky looked up at Tony, who refused to meet his eyes. “Is this about last night?” He probed cautiously.

Tony cocked his head feigning confusion as he focused on the top of Bucky’s head. “Last night?” He bit his lip and glanced at his watch. “What happened last night? C’mon Barnes, I want to get that stack of papers typed and to Fury as fast as possible.”

“We’re back to Barnes?” Bucky set his jaw, slightly hurt even though he knew Tony didn’t mean it. “Tony, what happened last night—I, I don’t regret it. In fact, I liked it a hell of a lot.”

“That’s great,” Tony replied, pulling his wrist out of Bucky grips, “However, the fact remains that I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll see you at the office in a bit. Sounds good?”

“Tony,” Bucky said, his voice low and almost pleading as the other man continued to speak.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out, I don’t think I’ll get lost on the way to the door. The manuscript is still on the coffee table, right? I’ll just grab it and be on my—” The rest of Tony’s word vomit was cut off by Bucky standing up and grabbing him by the shoulders to pull him into a kiss. Gone was the languid softness of the night before, replacing it was something that was hard and a little bit desperate. Tony froze, hands raised on either side of Bucky, eyes wide. His lips were still caught in the shape of the words he had been about to utter, and Bucky took advantage, sucking lightly on Tony’s bottom lip like he’d done the night before. He bit it lightly as he backed away, Tony still looking at him with a stunned expression.

“Tony, I like you a lot, even though it might not seem that way sometimes.” Bucky chuckled self-deprecatingly. “And, I think you feel the same, considering how we kissed last night.” He paused, biting his lip as he spread his hands. “I don’t think I’m alone in this. But if I am, I promise I’ll—,” He exhaled, “I’ll pretend it never happened.”

The disbelief in Tony’s expression was yet to dissipate as he stared at Bucky, his mouth parted. “You,” He started and then stopped, looking down at the ground with a hard stare. Gathering himself, he pulled his shoulders back, meeting Bucky’s eyes, “You _like_ me?” Despite his rigid stance, some of Tony’s incredulity couldn’t help but make it’s way into his voice, and Bucky raised a hand to the back of his head.

“Yes?” Bucky replied, unsure of what exactly to make of Tony’s reaction. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Instead of replying, Tony took a step closer to Bucky and looked up at him through his lashes. “This isn’t some kind of elaborate joke, right?”

Bucky looked right back, huffing out a laugh, “Oh, so _now_ you get it. If this was a joke, no one notified me.”

Tony shoved him lightly, “Shut up, you idiot.”

Bucky grabbed his wrist with a smile, “No, if anyone is the idiot, it’s you. I’ve been looking at you like you’ve hung the moon for days, and you still don’t get it, even after I’ve kissed you. _Twice._ ”

“I’m a literary genius.” Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, his expression delighted, “I can’t be an idiot.”

“You can if you’re _my_ idiot,” Bucky murmured, his expression probably matching Tony’s as Tony leaned up and pressed his lips against his.

Bucky had thought that the kiss they’re shared the night before had felt like coming home, but this kiss, this kiss made him realize that Tony _was_ home. They parted and then pressed their lips together again, twice, thrice, until Bucky quickly lost count, caught up in feelings of Tony and happiness and satisfaction.

They parted with giddy laughs, Tony leaning against him, before quieting into a comfortable silence, looking at each other. Bucky raised a hand and ran his thumb over the edge of Tony’s goatee, Tony rubbing circles on the back of his neck. The sound of their breathing filled the room, and it felt like they were wrapped in a bubble of contentedness.

That was, until Bucky’s stomach growled. With a laugh, Tony leaned back from Bucky’s hand, grinning down at the man’s offending stomach. “I think breakfast _might_ be a good idea. Who knows what that stomach of yours might devour if we don’t feed it.”

“Shaddup,” Bucky mock glared before turning to look at the alarm clock on his bedside table. Moving out of Tony’s embrace, he grabbed a hair tie and put his hair into a ponytail before lightly whacking Tony’s butt. Tony yelped, causing Bucky to smirk. “We better get moving on typing those edits up as well. I know _somebody_ was in a huge hurry to get those done.”

Tony’s ears turned red, and Bucky smiled, dropping another kiss on his lips before making his way to the kitchen. “C’mon, I’ll make us pancakes and then we can sit down and finish those edits. We only have two more days.”

“Well,” Tony said, following Bucky, “I can’t argue with pancakes.”

* * *

Tony was clicking away on his laptop, sitting up in bed with his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Bucky groped blindly to grab Tony’s hand, blinking groggily.

“What is the effing time?”

“Two a.m.” Tony muttered distractedly, fingers flying furiously over the keyboard.

“Why the hell are you awake? We finished transferring all the edits. A day early, if I may add.” Bucky batted at Tony’s shoulder. Tony continued to stare at the screen, typing away.

“I got a new idea for the ending.” Tony looked away from the screen, a soft smile on his face. He reached a hand out and tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair. “Go back to sleep, I’ll show it to you in the morning.”

“Fine,” Bucky mumbled, snuffling back into the pillow, but he left an arm loose around Tony’s waist. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

“Tony, this is,” Bucky trailed off, staring at the newly re-written ending. Tony fiddled with his fingers, watching as Bucky re-read it.

“Is it not good? I know I wrote it really quickly— _mmph._ ” Bucky leaned up and pressed a hard kiss to Tony’s mouth.

He broke away with a grin, “Tony, this is— shit, I’m _honored._ This is amazing.” Tony looked at him, eyes wide with a breathless smile.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely, yeah.” He shook his head in disbelief, “It’s awesome. We should email this off to Rhodey right now.”

“Well, I have no complaints with that.” Tony grabbed the laptop off of Bucky’s lap; smile still dancing on his lips. Fingers flying across the keyboard, he dramatically raised his finger over the mouse pad. “Ready?”

“Do it.”

Tony hit send.

* * *

“I thought we were done coming here, why are we here?” Tony complained, his hand tangled with Bucky’s in a way that made Bucky feel far too giddy.

“Fury just wants to go over a few things with you,” Pepper said, as they’d walked down the hall. “They’ve got a cover design in place, so they need your approval for that. Not to mention, do you have a title in mind?” Tony and Bucky looked at each other and smiled.

“Yep.” Tony replied. They’d discussed possible titles the night before, and Bucky was sure that the one they’d chosen in the end was perfect.

“Good, good. There will probably be some paperwork too, because technically, this guy,” Pepper pointed at Tony, “is still under contract with Stane, and that won’t end until two months from now. It’s probably going to end up being something about staying under the radar.” She looked at Tony pointedly.

Tony held up his hands in defense, “C’mon Pepper-Pot. I can definitely stay under the radar.”

“Uh huh,” Pepper muttered as they stopped in front of the familiar door to Fury’s office. She knocked firmly. “Don’t piss him off.”

“Of course not. Anyways, Buck-a-roo over here will keep me in line, won’t you sweetheart?” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“What else would I do, pumpkin?” he shot back, unimpressed by the nicknames, right as Fury opened the door.

“Which one did you not like, Buck-a-roo or sweetheart?” Tony turned towards Fury when he saw the door opened, “Nicky!”

Fury looked at them, his face already taking on an exasperated expression. “Let’s just get this done as fast as possible.”

”We’ll have someone email you the final design,” Fury said an hour later, looking down at the title page of the manuscript. “Are you sure this is the final title you want?”

Tony nodded his head sharply, and Bucky smiled softly when he caught his gaze. “I am most definitely sure about that title.”

“Alright, well, Stark,” Fury continued, pointing at the man in question. “I better not be hearing anything about this book before we release it. You can get out of my hair now.”

“Of course not, Nick,” Tony replied trying to make his eyes wide and guileless as they got out of their chairs and shook hands. He looked over at Bucky with an eyebrow raised in obvious question, jerking his chin to motion towards Fury’s very shiny and hairless head. Bucky muffled a laugh behind his hand, looking up as Fury cleared his throat, stopping them from making their way over to the door.

“Stark.”

“Yes, dear?” Tony turned around to face Fury.

The man steepled his hands, pursing his lips, “Don’t make me regret this, but after this book comes out… SHIELD would be happy to have you.”

Tony paused, and Bucky watched him process the offer. He smiled at Fury, something that was a bit more genuine than usual. “I’ll think about it, big guy. Knew you always loved me.”

Fury rolled his eyes. “I believe I explicitly told you to not make me regret this, Stark.”

“Not my fault I’m so lovable,” Tony replied with a grin, grabbing Bucky’s hand on his way out, “I’ll see you at the release party. And if your creative team wants to change the title, tell them that they have no taste, and that I don’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Fury called, shaking his head as he shut the door behind them. “You have to make me money first.”

* * *

_In an amazingly different comeback story from what the fiction world had expected, Stark delights readers with Iron Man—a character that is just enough tragic and heroic, and constantly breaking the bounds of what it means to be a protagonist in a space opera. —Publisher’s Weekly_

_asdfghjkl I just read Tony Stark’s new book and can I just say, A+++. I really hope that he writes a sequel with more of..._ _[spoilers below the cut]_ _\- Tumblr user themcliffsofdover_

_A space opera that thrills, yet doesn’t remove itself from the realities of its character’s emotions, the first installment of Tony Stark’s Marvels series leaves readers sitting in their seats with a sense of awe. —Booklist_

_If you’re looking for an awesome set of characters, and something that is basically a space opera, but better, you should totally read Tony Stark’s...— Anonymous ask in response to_ _post:Anyone got any book recs? Preferably scifi or [...]_

 _Stark brings a lone adventurer to life, and makes his adventures larger than life, but is still somehow able to make_ **Endless Skies** _a space story that still feels down to earth. Stark has proven that not only can he write literary fiction, but that he can enchant with his science fiction as well. —The New York Times_

* * *

“Alright everyone, a toast to our resident literary genius, his kick-ass book, and reinstatement as a NY Bestseller. I better be in your next book.” Clint raised his beer, and everyone followed, smiling as they raised their glasses and bottles as well. The bar was full of smiling people. Clinking his bottle against Tony’s, Clint gave him a pointed look. “I mean it. You promised, Stark.”

Tony laughed from where he was sitting at the bar, leaning into Bucky’s side. “Hey, I never promised you’d be a character. For all you know, I might just make you a space rock named Clint.”

Clint shook his finger. “Nope, I’m going to be the amazing Hawkeye, best sniper in the galaxy.”

“Whatever you say, Barton.” Tony replied with a grin. His eyes were bright, and Bucky couldn’t help but press a kiss to his forehead.

The book had been released earlier that morning, and it was flying off the shelves. The reviews were great, and Tony’s schedule was packed for the next few weeks: Book signings, meet and greets, and of course, settling into his new office at SHIELD.

Stane had thrown a fit when Tony had told him what he’d done, but considering the fact that he couldn’t prove that any negotiations had happened before Tony’s contract was over, he couldn’t do anything. It was pretty sweet, watching the older man turn purple when Tony handed him his two weeks notice. Bucky had given him his letter of resignation right after, and Bruce was in the middle of negotiating things so that he could move to SHIELD as well.

“It’s good to see that you guys are getting along now,” Steve said, interrupting Bucky’s thoughts. He looked down at the arm Bucky had wrapped around Tony’s waist with a pointed smile. “You should’ve seen this guy rant after his first day.”

Bucky made an affronted noise. “Hey, I told you all of that in confidentiality.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to say that I told you so, don’t worry.” He turned to Tony with a shit-eating grin. “If you ever need any dirt on Bucky.” He trailed off and Tony matched his grin, much to Bucky’s chagrin.

“Definitely. You have baby pics?”

Steve laughed, “I have better than that. I really need to show you the photos from when Bucky was a little college hipster.”

Tony turned to Bucky gleefully. “You never told me you had a hipster phase.”

Bucky glared at Steve. “Yeah, because that phase was supposed to have been buried with all evidence destroyed.”

Steve shrugged. “Since when have we ever let go of blackmail material?” He ruffled Bucky’s hair, before patting Tony’s shoulder, “Congrats though. I bought a copy this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” Tony replied, before humming thoughtfully. “I was thinking actually—”

“Well that’s a surprise.” Bucky butted in, Tony rolled his eyes and continued.

“Bucky showed me some of your art, and I was wondering, what do you think about doing the cover art for the next book?” Bucky squeezed Tony’s arm, looking down at him in surprise. Tony didn’t look at him, watching Steve instead.

Steve stared at Tony, eyes wide. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, your work is really good. Just, think about it, alright?” Tony took a sip of his beer, as if he hadn’t just left Steve speechless.

“I—yes! I’d love to! That’s-” Steve let out a breath and shook his head. “I mean, wow. Thanks, Tony.”

“No need to thank me.” Tony smiled, before his gaze shifted to over Steve’s shoulder. “I think Wilson might need your help, though.” He said, pointing over to where Sam seemed to be arguing with Clint over a row of shots that had been set up on the counter. Natasha stood next to Clint, arms crossed as she smirked. Bruce seemed to be moderating the argument, and Pepper and Rhodey stood off to the side, watching with amused smiles.

Sam turned around, obviously looking for Steve, and upon catching his eye, waved him over. “Yo, Steve. Clint says he can do more shots than me. I need back up.”

Steve grinned, turning back to Bucky and Tony. “Duty calls.” He gave a small shrug before striding over to Sam, clapping his shoulder with a grin. Tony looked up at Bucky with a small smile after Steve left.

“Hey.” He whispered.

Bucky leaned down and pecked him on the mouth. “Hey to you too.” He took a final gulp of his beer before setting it down on the counter.

“What do you say to getting out of here and celebrating a bit more at home?” Bucky asked, smiling.

“I would say that you have _very_ good ideas.” Tony replied, hopping off his bar stool and holding a hand out.

Bucky took it with a grin. “Well, I won’t argue with that assessment.”

“Better not, because according to the New York Times, I’m still a genius.”

“Mhmm.” Bucky leaned in for another kiss, tangling their hands together even further before they broke apart.

“Let’s go say our goodbyes.”

“I have no objection to that.”

* * *

They lay on the bed, panting and flushed with sated arousal.

“That was probably the best kind of celebration I’ve ever had,” Tony said, looking over at Bucky with a smirk.

Bucky returned it, grinning. “I’d sure hope so.” He pulled Tony close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m so proud,” Bucky murmured. He ran his hand through Tony’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp, and Tony sighed happily, sinking even further into the bed.

“I know,” Tony replied, teasingly. “You’ve only said so a few thousand times.”

“And I’ll keep on saying it.” Bucky reached up for the light switch, planning on turning it off when Tony shot up, causing Bucky to let out a yelp.

“Wait, wait, I have an idea.” Tony muttered, getting out from under the covers while Bucky watched, his mind sluggish from pleasure and exhaustion.

“Where the hell are you going?” Bucky asked, watching as Tony grabbed his boxers from the floor and shoved his legs into them. "And how do you have so much energy right now?"

“Apparently having sex with you is inspiring!” Tony yelled as he dashed into the other room for his computer.

Bucky stared up at the ceiling from his position on the bed, before shaking his head and grinning.

“Put on some pants, you idiot!” Bucky yelled back as he threw off the covers before he pulling on his own boxers and sleep pants. “And you bet it’s inspiring.” He walked into the other room, grinning at how Tony had perched himself on the edge of the couch. He pressed a kiss to Tony's temple as he sat down next to him and looked over his shoulder.

“Anything we do together is inspiring”

(“You’re such a sap,” Tony muttered, typing away.)

* * *

[Excerpt from _Endless Skies_ , copyright ©2016 by Tony Stark]

_Suddenly, the ship jolted, once and then twice. Iron Man grabbed his helmet, fastening the latches as the entire ship was yanked backwards, causing him to plant his hands on the control center in an effort to stabilize himself. He scrabbled for a handhold as the trajectory of the ship completely reversed and caused him to fall back into his seat. As he was once again hurtled forward, this time in the opposite direction, he caught sight of another ship in the distance._

_Looking down at the external display of the craft, he realized with a start that a tether had been attached to the hull. The same hull that was supposed to be made of metal that was close to impenetrable._

_Not to mention, considering his speed, the tether should’ve been yanked out of the other ship, even if it had latched itself onto his. But it hadn’t and the other ship had even managed to completely turn him around._

_As his craft was dragged towards the other ship, Iron Man took stock of the situation. There was a 70% chance that whomever was on the other ship would kill him on sight, the rest was a mixture of either being saved, kept hostage, or forced to build more of his armor._

_He was out of ammo, so he couldn’t defend himself, and the armor’s EVA capabilities were shot to hell after he’d been knocked around during the battle, which meant no escaping outside the ship._

_Well, Iron Man thought, looked like he wasn’t going to die as soon as he thought he would. He watched the other ship get closer and closer as the tether shortened, taking a few deep breaths and clenching and unclenching his hands. Within a few minutes, Mark XLVII pulled up the other ship, which was boldly emblazoned with the word HYDRA, much to the disgust of Iron Man._

_“Not only are they going to want my armor,” Iron Man muttered as he began to shut down the computer systems of the ship. “But they’re going to prance around with their little skull octopi and rave about New Worlds.”_

_The powering down of the ship had most likely already alerted them that they hadn’t caught an abandoned ship, and they were probably waiting to point blasters at him the minute they brought the ship into their carrier._

_As the entrance to the carrier opened up, dragging the Mark XLVII into it, Iron Man took a deep breath, before standing near the airlock, waiting for it to be forced open by whoever was outside._

_The creaking of metal as the port was bent out of shape in order to open up the craft grated against his nerves. There went the aerodynamics and styling, he thought frustratedly. Within a few minutes, there was a large gap between the actual side of the ship and the airlock. Iron Man shuffled towards it cautiously, before quickly stepping back when a metal arm gripped the edge of the door, prying it open even further._

_He could only stare, dumbfounded as he watched what was most definitely not an extraction machine continuing to wrench the door open, revealing the man on the other side. His brown hair was mostly tied back, but there were some fly-aways in his face. His face was furrowed in concentration and, Iron Man observed as he waited for the man, who was wearing an all leather armor space-suit, to notice him._

_It took a moment, but the man finally looked up to notice Iron Man, his eyes going wide as he took in the helmet that was in Iron Man’s hand, along with his armor. He stumbled away from the ship, one of his hands going to the blaster on his hip._

_“Who are you?” He demanded._

_Iron Man couldn’t help but snort, “I’m the owner of this ship. I’d say thank you for saving me from that black hole, but I’m not so sure that HYDRA is much better.”_

_Upon the mention of HYDRA, the man flinched. “I no longer work for HYDRA, I just stole their ship.” He frowned, hand still firmly on the grip of the blaster. “I thought the pilot had abandoned this craft, which was why I was dragging it in for scrap.”_

_“Well, said pilot is right here,” Iron Man replied, gesturing to himself. “And you’ve kind of ruined my ship, so I suppose you’re stuck with me until we reach your destination.”_

_“Jeez, yeah.” The man looked guiltily at the now ruined port door, before sighing. “I’m Winter Soldier. You?”_

_“Iron Man.” He stepped out of the ruined doorway, surveying the inside of the carrier. “This is a big ship.”_

_Winter Soldier nodded, before looking up at Iron Man with a conspiratorial grin, “I suppose it's a good thing I dragged you in to give me some company then, huh?”_

_Iron Man couldn’t help but let out a laugh. This man seemed to be full of surprises. Reformed HYDRA lackey, and now this. “I suppose so. You got any kind of mission right now?”_

_“Taking down HYDRA,” The other man replied, his expression becoming serious. “And establishing communication with the leader of the Avengers.”_

_“Captain America?” Iron Man asked, surprised, “You know him?”_

_“We were,” He paused, “friends.” He pursed his lips before continuing. “There’s a war coming, and HYDRA’s only a small part of it. I’m sure that you’ve already seen evidence of it in the galaxy.”_

_Iron Man frowned, his mind immediately going back to the uncharacteristic attacks of the Chitauri when he was with the Avengers. “You might be onto something.” Thinking for a moment he grinned, “Well, I’ve always had a knack for getting myself into fights, and I think that this could be one of the better ones that I choose to take on.” Perhaps, perhaps fighting War Monger wouldn’t be his last useless stand. Perhaps he’d be able to find meaning by fighting this fight, alongside this man._

_Winter Soldier looked at him, confused. “You’re going to join me?”_

_Iron Man laughed. “Of course. What kind of space adventurer would I be if I didn’t?”_

_The other man looked at him for a moment, obviously gauging him, “Alright then.” He smiled._

_“You’re not as bad as I thought you would be.” Iron Man smirked, “I was expecting to be vaporized.”_

_Winter Soldier chuckled, “I’m glad, that does_ not _sound like the start of a beautiful friendship.”_

_“I have to agree, I like this much better,” Iron Man replied as the Soldier led him through the halls of the ship, leading him to the command room. Iron Man walked over to the controls, looking down at them before gazing out towards the stars with a soft smile. Looked like he was wrong about it being the last time he’d see them._

_He looked over at Winter Soldier, who stood near the other console with his arms crossed, and grinned breathlessly._

Definitely _not the last time._

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

>  _We sail through endless skies/Stars shine like eyes/The black night sighs_  
>  _The moon in silver trees/Falls down in tears/Light of the night_  
>  _The earth, a purple blaze/Of sapphire haze/In orbit always_  
>  _While down below the trees/Bathed in cool breeze/Silver starlight breaks down the night_  
>  _And so we pass on by the crimson eye/Of great god Mars/As we travel the universe_  
>  -Planet Caravan by Black Sabbath
> 
> Yes, I did lift the title from the Black Sabbath song Planet Carvan, and yeah, I did make Maria the writer of said Black Sabbath song and call it a poem. But the anti-war interpretation of it is one of the many possible interpretations of the song, and it was practically my anthem when writing the excerpts from 'the book'. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is always welcome :) 
> 
> I have a tumblr as well: [Faillen](http://www.faillen.tumblr.com), feel free to send me a message or an ask!


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